


Wish

by wocket



Category: Real Person Fiction, dylric - Fandom
Genre: Dylric, First Time, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: Dylan doesn't know what this thing between them means or what brought the two of them together. Regardless, he can't resist Eric.





	Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dirtybandaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtybandaid/gifts).



The anticipation of summer is thick in the air on the last day of school at Columbine High School. The seniors are all gone, having been granted early release before the rest of the students. Kids have stopped carrying their backpacks and textbooks to class, ceasing to care about schoolwork. For the most part, the last day of class is a waste of everyone’s time.

Sitting in the library at lunch on the last day, Eric watches Dylan doodle in his journal. He’s drawing a dark inverted pyramid, like Maslow’s hierarchy of needs but the other way around. There’s an infinity symbol drawn at the bottom of the pyramid rather than self-actualization. Instead of safety and esteem, he’s got words like _eternity_ and _godlike_ scribbled on each level. Love is the only section that remains the same on both diagrams.

After a few minutes, Dylan realizes Eric is watching him. He’s usually so hyper-aware of anyone watching or judging him, he doesn’t know how he missed it. He turns the page and scribbles a note, showing the page to Eric.

_You want to skip seventh hour?_

Eric nods, popping his gum loudly.

The librarian frowns in Eric’s direction. They both glare directly at her as they walk past her desk, out the doors of the library and downstairs to their lockers.

“I’m just done,” Dylan states decisively.

“So fucking done,” Eric agrees.

*

A few hours later and it’s summertime in Littleton once again. Eric and Dylan spend their first evening of freedom driving around in Dylan’s BMW listening to Nine Inch Nails. “Wish” comes on and Eric ratchets the volume up, rolling down the car windows.

Eric plucks Dylan’s baseball cap from his head, grinning. Wind ruffles Dylan’s blonde hair through the open window.

*

The Klebolds spend the entire month of June preparing for their vacation to Italy and trying to cajole Dylan into spending time with them. Dylan pulls back even further, but is pleased to find out that his parents will be leaving him behind in Colorado when they finally go on the trip. He begs to be left in the house alone, but Tom and Sue are reticent, still finding issues with the idea. Instead, they plan for Dylan to stay with the Harrises, where he can sleep on the couch in Eric’s basement.

Dylan hasn’t looked forward to something this much in ages.

*

Most of Eric and Dylan’s nights consist of playing video games and eating junk food. For two weeks, they live like roommates, like brothers.

Dylan’s parents send him a postcard from Italy. They’re in Rome. The postcard has a photograph of crumbling ruins, and his mother writes a sweet note on the back. Dylan tucks it into the edge of the mirror, which might as well be his at this point.

“We need a ticket out of this shithole,” Eric tells Dylan, staring at his reflection over Dylan’s shoulder in the mirror. 

*

The next Saturday is the 4th of July. They go to the fireworks stand in the parking lot of the Walmart at the edge of town and buy whatever they can, pooling their cash for Lady Fingers, Black Cats, Roman candles, and one of those novelty variety packs. Feeling nostalgic, Dylan slips a pack of sparklers into his back pocket when the attendant isn’t looking in his direction.

Eric tries to stop at Burger King on the way to Dylan’s house, but it’s closed for the holiday. “Fuck,” he screams at the drive-thru speaker before speeding out of the place. 

Loading up their arms with fireworks, they sneak their lot into Dylan’s backyard along with a Zippo lighter.

The fireworks are loud and smoky, popping off in sharp bursts of color and noise. Eric crosses his arms in front of his chest as he watches the display. “If somebody dropped a bomb on Littleton, I don’t think anybody would care.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything to that; he just watches the fireworks. They keep lighting them until they get to the smaller ones, which aren’t nearly as impressive. A piddly green one sputters and Eric dodges forward to kick it into the grass. It tumbles in the dark, lighting a small patch of the yard on fire. Dylan runs forward to stamp out the flame.

Behind the red rocks, the fireworks from Clement Park explode in the night sky, shattering into every color of the rainbow.

*

They decide to stick around, telling Eric’s parents that they’re sleeping at a friend’s house. They don’t tell them it’s Dylan’s house. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Eric starts digging through his backpack. “I brought a couple things,” he begins explaining. “It’s up to you.” He holds up a movie - _Four Rooms_ \- and Dylan is surprised to see the next box he holds up. It’s got a naked woman on the cover. Eric’s never suggested anything like this before, but Dylan mulls the options over in his brain. He was curious about the porno. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

Eric nods and puts the beat-up VHS tape in the living room VCR, where they can take advantage of the sound system. 

Dylan notices out of the corner of his eye that Eric sits at the opposite end of the couch, about as far away from his friend as he can get. He adjusts the volume with the remote control as the movie starts to play.

A busty blonde woman in a strappy dress and stiletto heels walks around a hotel room, swaying her hips and shaking various body parts. A muscular man with a goatee convinces her to kiss him, then rips off her dress, grabbing her breasts and kissing her everywhere. He forces her to her knees in front of him.

Dylan watches with interest as she manually stimulates the dude, wrapping her delicate fingers around his dick. She teases him with her tongue, getting him nice and wet and ready. After a few minutes of cock-sucking and tit-grabbing, the man hitches the woman onto the bed. Kissing down her belly, he tears her red panties away. She digs her matching red nails into the bedsheets when he licks her open, preparing her for his dick.

When things really get going, the woman starts panting loudly, making pleased noises. The man’s grunts get louder too, and so do the slapping noises of their thighs as he fucks into her. Dylan doesn’t know if it’s the sound of their breathing or their skin but there’s a familiar twinge in his crotch and he realizes the front of his pants are starting to tent. He shifts nervously, trying to hide his fledgling boner. He wills it to go away and it kind of works, for a few minutes, until the man spins the woman around and starts fucking her doggy-style on the bed.

Dylan pulls at his jeans, trying to figure something out. He glances at Eric and realizes he seems to be dealing with a similar situation. Eric is leaning back, however, pressing the heel of his hand against his boner. Dylan lets his own erection be, looking back at the screen. 

The man on screen fists his hand in the woman’s hair, yanking her head back. Between her moans, Dylan hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Trying to look at the screen and at Eric at the same time, Dylan discerns that Eric has a hand in his pants.

Dylan reaches down and presses a hand against his dick through his jeans, still not confident but less terrified. Maybe this is okay if they don’t look at each other.

The guy in the porn is really railing the chick now, and she’s almost screaming, begging for his dick. Dylan’s trying to watch her but can’t ignore the firm lines of the man’s body as he moves, pounding her pussy into submission. Dylan also can’t ignore Eric to his left, fully jerking off beside him. So he unzips his own pants, reaches into his boxers and wraps his fingers around his dick, which gives a surprised throb. 

Eric and Dylan beat off simultaneously, hands moving in rhythm with the couple’s movements on screen. 

Dylan comes first, watching the man spank the woman’s ass. Eric finishes just as the tape ends and the TV screen fills with static.

Nobody moves.

“I need something to drink,” Eric finally says. 

Dylan recommends the only thing he knows how to. “Want to raid my parent’s liquor cabinet?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eric says, jumping to his feet. They both try to wipe their hands off without the other noticing.

They settle on vodka, pouring some out into plastic cups and replacing the missing contents with water. After they finish looting the liquor, Dylan locates the box of cigars that his dad thinks he doesn’t know about. He selects one that he hopes his father won’t miss. He and Eric can split it, no biggie.

They sit on the back deck passing the cigar back and forth. 

The two of them are mostly quiet until Dylan lets out a yell, a wild whoop that punctures the silence like a knife. Eric looks over at him, confused at first; confusion that turns to amusement when he sees the look of abandon on his friend’s face. Eric shuts his eyes, releasing a howl into the night.

Dylan starts laughing after they finish yelling. Eric can’t help but think it’s a beautiful sound and joins him. 

They drink until they black out later that night, falling asleep side by side in Dylan’s narrow bed. 

*

Eric drives by the Burger King the next morning on their way back to the Harris household, getting the Cini Minis he’s been craving along with a black coffee. He likes it as bitter as he is. “Do you want anything?” he asks Dylan politely. Dylan shakes his head. “You’re just gonna watch me eat?”

Dylan shrugs.

“Okay, man.”

*

That night the two boys have dinner with Eric’s parents. After last night’s events, Dylan can’t look them in the eye.

Dylan only asks for a salad that night, skipping the meatloaf that everybody else eats. He stirs the lettuce around aimlessly, twirling it on his plate with a fork. He only eats a few bites, hoping that none of the Harrises will notice.

Dylan keeps deferring to Eric for answers, letting the other boy speak when they ask prying questions. He’s witty, making biting comments and one-liners, trying to ride the line between the sort of behavior acceptable to his parents and the kind that’s not.

Eric’s saying something about judgmental righteousness when he kicks Dylan’s foot under the table. Dylan’s head perks up, and he tries to figure out the drift of what Eric is saying and rejoin the conversation, astonished that Eric notices he’s not paying attention.

*

Dylan is sort of bummed when the middle of July rolls around and his parents’ vacation is almost at an end. Tonight will be his last night sleeping at Eric’s house.

Eric pulls out a silver flask and hands it to Dylan. “You okay?”

Dylan takes a swig, frowning at the taste of the alcohol. “I think so. It’s just the last night, that’s all,” he explains.

“Oh. Yeah.” Eric takes the flask from Dylan. “Better make it count.” Dylan studies Eric as he drinks, noticing the way his lips wrap around the bottle. “What?” he asks, amused, trying to figure out why Dylan is tracking his movements.

“Nothing,” Dylan answers quickly. Eric finds a way to make sure he stays in his friend’s field of vision. 

“Tell me,” he insists. 

“Trust me,” Dylan tells him, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “You don’t want to know.”

“What if I dare you?” Eric asks, egging him on. Dylan shakes his head no, frustrated.

“Let it go, Reb,” Dylan asks.

“No,” he answers, stubborn as always. He starts to get in Dylan’s face. “Tell me,” he taunts, and Dylan does the first thing he can think of to get him to shut up. He kisses him.

Dylan’s rarely, if ever, seen Eric in a state of shock, but he can’t think of any other word to describe the look on his friend’s face.

“Seriously?” he asks. It’s better than _fuck you_ or _faggot_ or Eric’s fist connecting with his face.

Resigned, Dylan says “yeah” under his breath.

Eric sputters a laugh, but he reaches out to grab a fistful of Dylan’s Rammstein shirt, kissing him back.

Dylan’s lips are soft, and Eric is greedy, kissing them with a ravenous thirst. He keeps biting Dylan’s lower lip, loving the way Dylan’s hand on his arm tightens when he does so. 

Dylan tastes Eric, and it’s not at all what he imagined, but it’s awesome. They take their time learning the other, swapping spit and sucking face until their mouths are numb.

Eric sneaks a hand forward, resting it on Dylan’s crotch. Eric feel the outline of his dick through the fabric of his boxers.

When they pull apart for air, Dylan’s cheeks are pink. He fumbles for the switch on the lamp and they’re consumed by darkness. 

Dylan kisses with silent desperation, having never known he could burn like that before. 

Eric makes Dylan turn onto his side. He grabs his hips and thrusts against his backside. When Eric’s not satisfied with the friction, he gives Dylan’s pants a tug, taking them down to his knees. Dylan is so skinny that the pants slide off his hips easily.

Eric slides his dick against Dylan’s bare ass. 

“Um,” Dylan hesitates, when Eric does it again, grinding his hard cock between Dylan’s cheeks.

“Don’t worry,” Eric reassures him, thrusting again. Dylan probably thinks he wants to fuck him. His friend Chris had told him about this, told him about doing it with chicks beneath the bleachers who didn’t want to have sex but didn’t mind a guy grinding between their slippery thighs underneath their skirts.

Eric digs his fingers into his hip so hard they’ll leave bruises, rutting against Dylan and grinding. Eric moans, and Dylan shushes him quickly with wide, panicked eyes. He can’t believe they’re sneaking around like this. _At least I won’t die a virgin_ , he says to himself.

Eric jizzes all over his hand and Dylan’s ass with a grunt, turning him over so he can jerk Dylan off until he finishes. He can't see Dylan's face in the dark, but if he could, he'd see half-lidded eyes and a pouted mouth that hung open, Eric's name silent on his lips.

“Was that your first?” Eric asks afterward, when they’re lying side by side and looking at the ceiling. Dylan doesn’t know why he bothers. He looks away and nods.

“Hey,” Eric whispers with a grin. He holds his fist out for Dylan to bump, which makes him crack a smile. 

Dylan sleeps in Eric’s bed that night, remembering to set an alarm so he can wake up before Wayne and Kathy. When the alarm clock starts beeping at six in the morning, Dylan’s arm is wrapped around Eric’s waist. He hates to let go.

*

By the time Dylan’s parents get home from Europe, summer is halfway over. Eric and Dylan start spending less time at the Klebold residence, choosing instead to hang out in their cars, aimlessly driving all over Littleton on the weekends. One Friday night, Eric drives down to Chatfield State Park, where they drive around the edge of the reservoir. Dylan puts in his Orbital CD, the one that’s taken up residence in Eric’s passenger side door.

After circling around, Eric finds a secluded area to park the car. They climb into Eric’s backseat. 

Eric backs Dylan up against the window. His long legs are bunched up uncomfortably. He hangs onto the bar over the window with one hand.

Eric pushes up Dylan’s shirt and drags a finger across Dylan’s smooth abdomen, tapping his skin thoughtfully. “You’re so skinny.”

Dylan frowns and instinctively sucks his stomach in, shutting his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Let’s go,” Eric says, “before somebody gets here.” He reaches for Dylan’s zipper. He tugs the pants down off Dylan’s hips, deciding to rip them off completely when he realizes their current position isn’t going to work. 

Dylan’s legs are pale and his knees are knobbly. Eric touches his thighs, nudging his knees back and spreading his legs so he can bow his head between Dylan’s thighs and take his cock into his mouth.

Dylan grips the bar tightly. Embarrassed, he tries to keep himself quiet. It works, but it also has the effect of making Eric unsure without any reactions to guide him.

“Is this all right?”

Dylan laughs, and Eric can feel his body shaking. “Fuck yeah,” he whispers. Eric returns to his task, feeling more confident. 

Dylan’s hand reaches down to skim across Eric’s scalp, fingers brushing over his short buzzed hair. Dylan seems to catch himself in the act, pulling his hand away, but Eric pulls up an inch. “It’s cool,” he says, and so Dylan rests his right hand in Eric’s hair, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Eric’s not very practiced at this, and his technique is sloppy and wet. Dylan has no basis for comparison, choosing not to complain. The notion that anyone’s mouth is on his dick is blowing his mind.

When his jaw gets tired, Eric takes Dylan in his hand, trying to get him to finish. “Come.” Dylan obeys. 

“Ugh,” he says after, remarking at the mess. “What are you going to -” he starts to say, and Eric licks his hand. “You’re crazy,” Dylan tells him.

The two of them keep sitting in the backseat of Eric’s parked car even after they finish fooling around. Dylan gets chatty sometimes after he comes, and Eric humors him. Dylan keeps asking him these “would you rather” questions, and his line of questioning reveals his weird sense of humor.

“Would you rather blow a homeless guy or eat roadkill?”

“Ew,” Eric says. “Next.”

“Would you rather be a girl or show your parents your search history?”

Eric thinks for a second. “Girl.”

“No video games or no sex?”

“Fuck,” Eric says. That’s a hard one to answer, since he’s not really getting much anyway. “No video games.”

Dylan smiles, a nice wide smile that reveals his teeth. Eric sees that smile less and less now, so he drinks it in.

“Choking someone or being choked?”

“Easy,” Eric answers.

When Dylan stops paying attention to him, Eric leans forward and kisses him, hard. He puts his hands on Dylan’s neck, without applying pressure, just touching. That one and only porn film they watched together crosses his mind briefly. Eric remembers the man’s hands closing around the porn star’s throat, and when Dylan nods, just barely, Eric tightens his hands around Dylan’s neck, choking him.

Dylan’s eyes are trained on Eric’s. His eyes are dark and gleaming with excitement. Dylan’s body goes slack under Eric.

Eric lets go.

Dylan wheezes, reaching out instinctively for Eric’s arm. “Fuck,” he says with a scratchy voice. “Do it again.”

*

On the drive home, Eric puts his hand on top of Dylan’s for a minute. When he pulls it away, Dylan can’t figure out if he imagined the gesture or not.

“Do you think Columbine will be different?” Dylan asks Eric, looking out the window at the water. “Now that we’ll be seniors?”

Eric laughs. “Columbine will _never_ change,” comes his confident answer.

*

It was a warm Monday afternoon in late August. Eric didn’t want to be caught dead in the school’s theatre, but Dylan was missing. 

“Dylan,” Eric says, peeking around the corner of the sound booth in the back of the theatre that looked out over the entire auditorium.

“Don’t call me that,” he says sharply. “What are you doing up here?”

“Vodka,” Eric corrects himself. He stands up straight, the rest of his body appearing in the doorway. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and baggy pants. “I’m looking for you. What are _you_ doing up here?”

“I’m running tech for the show,” he says, like it’s obvious, gesturing at the light board and sound equipment. He pulls his black baseball cap off to run a hand through his blonde hair.

“During fourth hour?” Dylan had been missing from their class, apparently skipping.

“It’s first lunch. I eat up here sometimes.” It’s around this time that Dylan notices something in Eric’s pocket. Dylan motions to it. “What’s that for?”

Eric pulls out a can of Dr. Pepper from one side of his pants and hands it to Dylan. It must be from one of the vending machines in the cafeteria because it’s still cold. Dylan doesn’t say anything but nods appreciatively, in a way he thinks looks cool.

Eric looks around while Dylan opens up the can of soda. There’s a thin layer of dust over almost everything in the booth. There’s a desk chair for the computer that’s held together by masking tape and a ratty couch with a 1980s floral print, clearly donated from someone’s living room. _Huh,_ Eric thinks, _so the casting couch thing is real_.

“Have a seat. If you want,” Dylan offers. Eric flops down on the couch.

“You’re lucky I took notes for you,” Eric says, digging in his backpack for his notebook. Dylan sits down next to Eric, spying something else in his backpack when he goes to pull the spiral notebook out. It’s a plastic CD case, with a blank CD inside of it. Or maybe it’s not blank after all. Scrawled across the disc is **4V** in red permanent marker.

“What’s this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Did you hack somebody -”

“No, man, it’s music,” Eric explains. Dylan moves to put it in the computer’s CD tower. 

“Not here, dude!” Eric says quickly, moving to prevent him from reaching the computer. He looks around. “So there’s no class in here, or what?”

“Not until fifth hour.”

Eric nods, like he’s thinking about something specific. After a few moments, he pushes Dylan and grabs him at the same time, stepping up on his tiptoes to kiss his mouth. They’re only inches apart but it’s enough difference to count.

“Reb!” Dylan squawks. Eric takes a step back.

“You’re a pussy,” Eric says, a little bit hurt and annoyed at the same time. “Nobody’s here. Nobody can see.”

Dylan was both more self-conscious and anxious than Eric Harris. “Still…” Dylan trails off. Someone _might_ see, and where would that get them? In more trouble than they’d ever been in their entire lives. Dylan was constantly thinking about his reputation.

Eric glares and sits back down on the ratty sofa. He kicks his feet up, sulking.

“Reb,” Dylan says, drawing out the syllable. He tries to offer Eric some of the Dr. Pepper as a peace offering. Eric sips from the can but doesn’t look any happier.

“So you really fuck around with all the shit up here?”

“It’s a thankless job,” Dylan says, looking around at the old equipment. Most of it was stuff the theatre department had laying around after the renovation a few years ago. It wasn’t the worst job in the world, and it gave Dylan a place to hang out during lunch. “The computer’s not hooked up to the network, though, so you can bypass the school’s firewall.” Eric perks up at that, taking another look at the old Windows 98 computer. “I put Napster on it, too.”

“Cool.” Eric nods while Dylan puts away a cable. He joins Eric on the sofa after that, looking ahead, around the booth, anywhere but Eric. Eventually Eric jostles Dylan’s knee. “You want to fuck around with some other shit?” he asks, and it’s one of his less glamorous come-ons. He looks at Dylan out of the corner of his eye, then pounces, knocking Dylan down on the sofa so he can climb on top of him. 

“You nervous?” Eric asks, only asking because _he_ actually is, although he’d never admit it. Dylan shakes his head.

Dylan wraps an arm around Eric’s waist to help keep him balanced on top of him on the sofa, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

“What’s on the CD?” Dylan asks mid-kiss after a couple of minutes. Eric shoves him.

“Don’t be a faggot.”

“I’m not a -” he starts, but Eric’s kissing him again with a loud _smack_.

There was no lock on the door, but Dylan could see the door clearly from the angle he was lying at, even lying under Eric, and they’d certainly be able to hear if anyone came up the stairs. It wasn’t foolproof but it was something. More privacy than they’d ever get at the Klebold house, anyway.

Eric slides a hand up Dylan’s skinny side, up past his ribs. Dylan shivers and instinctively flinches, trying to push Eric’s hand away, but Eric squeezes Dylan’s fingers and pushes his hand down. “Don’t be a little bitch,” he says harshly. Eric kisses him again, lips a little spit-slick, keeping Dylan pinned to the couch with his body.

Dylan doesn’t try to argue this time, just kisses Eric harder, biting his lip a little bit.

Eric covers Dylan’s mouth with his hand, muffling his noise. Dylan struggles and Eric can feel him wriggling like a fish underneath him. He pushes harder. The sounds escaping Dylan’s mouth get softer, more muted, and he can feel Dylan trying to resist under his palm. His hand is blocking Dylan’s nose, too, and Dylan starts to squirm. Eric ignores the way he claws at Eric’s elbows, trying not to look at his blue eyes. When Dylan finally goes still Eric lets up, pulling his hand back like it’s been scorched.

“Shh,” Eric says on instinct. “ _V_.”

Dylan gasps for breath, his eyes wide. That shouldn’t feel so good, but he’s hard, and he knows Eric can feel it. Eric thrusts his hips downwards like it’s a challenge. 

Dylan smiles, as if he’s been let in on a naughty joke.

Eric goes for Dylan’s belt buckle, throwing it open quickly and going for the zipper on his pants before he can change his mind. He reaches a hand into Dylan’s boxers and pulls out his dick. 

Dylan holds his breath. Eric starts jerking him off, his other hand gripping Dylan’s shoulder. The handjob is not very graceful, but it works, and Dylan starts grasping for Eric. Eric smiles a wicked smile, seeing the result of his effort. He tightens his fist, only watching Dylan’s face. His eyelids flutter when Eric twists his wrist just so. Eric moves faster.

Dylan comes, and Eric wipes his hand on a weird towel that happened to be nearby.

After Eric finishes pleasuring Dylan, he sits back on his haunches, pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket and puts them on. Dylan groans. “You know I hate it when you do that. I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

“That’s exactly why I do it,” Eric retorts, crossing his arms. He frowns. “Come over tonight?”

Dylan manages to nod. He zips his pants back up. “Yeah. Of course.”

The bell rings, shaking them both out of their reverie.

“Only one more year of this shit,” Eric says. He steals another sip of Dylan’s Dr. Pepper before bounding out of the sound booth and off to class.

*

Dylan’s riding high from his interaction with Eric earlier that day in the theatre, so much so that he’s competely not paying attention when he bumps into a pair of jocks on the way to his locker after the final bell. 

“What the fuck?” the taller one says in a deep voice. Both of the jocks turn to face Dylan, picking him up under each armpit and shoving him against the row of lockers. Dylan’s head slams back, bumping painfully against the metal. He winces. “You think you could watch yourself, you faggot punk?”

“I’m sorr-” Dylan tries to apologize, and the other one knocks him in the face.

“Did we ask you to speak?”

Dylan looks to the floor. They slam him into the lockers again for good measure. His body collides into the lockers with a loud thunk. The jocks drop him and sneer.

*

Eric watches the sun dip below the tops of the mountains, chain-smoking cigarettes on the front porch when Dylan’s BMW pulls up that evening. Dylan recognizes him by the familiar shape of his hunched over shoulders and backwards baseball cap. 

Dylan bums a cigarette off Eric. It’s not a menthol so he only smokes half, tucking the rest of it into the windowsill to save it for later. 

Silently, Eric leads Dylan into the house and to his bedroom. Dylan’s not sure if he should sit on the bed or in a chair or what, until Eric moves past him and pushes down on Dylan’s shoulder like he wants him to chill out and sit on the bed. Eric seems to be focusing on Doom, so Dylan just watches him. Eric takes a seat next to Dylan. As they play video games, they slowly begin to lean against each other.

Eventually Dylan stretches out and puts his head in Eric’s lap while Eric keeps playing, balancing the controller on Dylan’s shoulder. 

Every so often, while waiting for the next checkpoint to load, Eric will slip his fingers in the hair sticking out from under Dylan’s hat to play with his hair absentmindedly. Dylan doesn’t say anything, just lets Eric thread his hands in the blonde strands, surprised he’s allowing him this. Ungraceful, Eric’s fingers get caught in a tangle. 

Eventually he gets bored, putting down the controller. His attention seems to switch to Dylan after that; the weight of his gaze is a heavy one. Eric makes the first move, leaning down like he’s going to kiss Dylan. He pauses before their mouths connect, looking him in the eyes, searching. Dylan doesn’t pull away or say anything, so he closes the distance, planting a sideways kiss on his mouth.

Eric’s hand sneaks to Dylan’s side. He tickles him just below the ribs, and Dylan’s whole body jerks. 

“Eric,” Dylan complains, sitting up eagerly. Once Dylan is upright, Eric uses the opportunity to put a hand on his neck and kiss him for real this time. “Sometimes I want to tear you apart,” Dylan mutters after a hot, searing kiss, and Eric’s not sure if he’s talking to him or to himself. He had so many fucking _feelings_. “I want to corrupt you,” Dylan murmurs, from somewhere, this time definitely to Eric.

Eric tries not to laugh at Dylan but hides his smile by leaning into Dylan’s shoulder.

“You’re not a threat; you’re a kid.” Eric motions to the bruise forming on Dylan’s temple. Dylan looks ashamed. “Hey, fuck them.” He kisses Dylan even harder. Dylan melts into the kiss, reaching for Eric’s hips. He tries to slide a hand underneath his shirt but Eric seizes his wrist. His parents are upstairs. “We better not.”

Dylan tries not to let the hurt show on his face.

*

It was an ugly day. Blue skies. Birds are singing, the sun is shining. 

Eric doesn’t see Dylan at school that morning. He checks for him when he’s dumping textbooks into his locker before first hour, looking down the hall, but he’s not there.

Eric finally spots him after lunch, chatting with a brunette from their history class. Eric stands there watching them for a minute, clenching his backpack strap in his fist. Dylan doesn’t look at him, just keeps talking to the girl and laughing, and Eric storms away.

Eric seems mad after that, for the rest of the day, and Dylan can’t put his finger on why. Maybe it’s hard for Eric to see Dylan with other people, to see him having fun with someone else. Dylan wishes Eric could just tell him why.

The previous day, the two had made plans to work on their psychology homework together. Dylan showed up at Eric's house that evening anyway, despite knowing Eric was angry.

“You ignored me,” Eric says, slamming down his pencil that night after they finish doing homework in the basement of the Harris house.

“What are you talking about?” Dylan says, confused.

“Why do you want their approval?” Eric asks angrily. “I don’t see why you’re still trying to get with them.” Neither of them fit in at school, but Dylan still seemed to make more friends than Eric despite his best efforts.

“I’m not trying to get with anyone,” Dylan responds, trying to make a stand for himself. It makes Eric even madder - he hates when Dylan tries to argue with him. “I spent all summer with you.”

“That has fuck-all to do with it,” Eric spits. In an instant, Eric snatches Dylan’s glasses from his face. He drops them to the floor and snaps them in half under his boot. Eric maintains eye contact with Dylan the entire time, laughing when they make a sickening crunch under the sole of his shoe. 

Dylan’s hands start to shake.

“I need those to drive,” Dylan said. “How am I going to _see_?” Dylan balls his hands into fists to keep from lunging at Eric. “You’re an asshole,” Dylan says, a surge of anger rising up within him. He needs to express it to Eric in that moment. He turns to leave, afraid of what he might do.

Eric catches him by the back of his shirt, forcing him to turn around.

“Yeah.” Eric just shakes his head at Dylan. “But that’s why you like me.”

Dylan takes a moment to simmer, watching Eric with angry eyes. Unbelievable. Then, slowly, that hot core becomes molten and his features soften. “Yeah,” he admits.

“Sometimes I know what’s good for you,” Eric says, like he knows what he’s talking about. “I don’t know what you would do without me. You should let me do what needs to be done.”

Dylan nods reluctantly, staring at the floor. He prays for the disappearance of the barely forming tears in the corner of his eyes before Eric catches on. Eric always seems to figure him out anyway. He sighs. “Come on, V.”

Dylan won’t look at him.

“ _Vvvvv_ ,” Eric says again, drawing the nickname out, looking up at Dylan. He takes a step closer carefully. Eric leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come on,” he entices in a low voice. He kisses him again but Dylan doesn’t participate, holding completely still. Eric ignores the way Dylan seems uncomfortable, grabbing him regardless.

Dylan doesn’t necessarily want to be held by _Eric_ right now, but doesn’t want to pass up an opportunity to be held, so he lets Eric take him into his arms, lets him do whatever he needs to so he can feel better about whatever just happened. Eric flings Dylan’s limbs around like a teddy bear, making him sit down on the couch. Dylan shuts his eyes, trying to figure out what he’s going to tell his mother about his glasses. Maybe he can say they fell off his bureau and he stepped on them accidentally. 

Appeased, Eric’s hand rests on Dylan’s lower back. His fingers are just barely dipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt. Eric slides his thumb back and forth over Dylan’s skin in a soothing pattern. It works, putting Dylan at ease despite their showdown.

“Can I kiss you?” Dylan asks after what feels like a long time, muffling the words against Eric’s sleeve. The rage within him often got tangled up together with passion in a burst of serotonin and hormones, especially when it came to Eric Harris. “Is the door locked?”

Eric nods, and it’s a yes to both questions. Dylan doesn’t have to move far before he’s locking lips with his friend. Dylan’s next movements lack the intensity of their regular experimentation; his kiss is tender but inexperienced.

They neck on the couch, hands and mouths roaming. Eric thrusts his tongue into Dylan’s mouth, kissing him forcefully.

Dylan has figured out a tender spot high up on Eric’s neck that makes him calm down when he lavishes attention on it, kisses and little nips of his teeth. Dylan pulls back to see the look on Eric’s face. His lips are parted, and his eyelashes brush his cheekbones when his eyes are closed. Dylan feels a rush of something shoot up his spine. Despite the way Eric could be rough with him, Dylan felt a deep connection to him. He wasn't sure where the feeling originated from, but he knew Eric really was looking out for him; knew that Eric wanted the best for both of them. He got chills from the way Eric touched him. 

_Love will fuck you up_ , Dylan thinks, putting a name to whatever this is without realizing it.

“I think I love you,” Dylan says, but it feels like someone else is in control of his body. _Love love love love_ , he thinks.

“You can’t know that.”

“Stop it,” Dylan says suddenly. “Stop fucking with me.”

“What are you talking about,” Eric breathes, a look of horror crossing his face. He steadies himself, hoping it’s before Dylan notices the way he lurches.

“I can’t do this,” he says in a tiny voice, and he starts speaking faster. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t do this just for… shits and giggles,” Dylan manages to get out.

“Vodka.” Eric hates the fear he sees in Dylan’s eyes. He leans forward and kisses him again. “Stop fucking worrying.” He pauses. “I’ll do anything for you,” Eric confesses. Dylan’s eyes look red, almost ashamed. “What? You don’t believe me?”

Dylan licks his lips nervously. He starts to shrug one shoulder, afraid of what Eric might do if he doesn’t answer. 

Eric shakes his head. He stands up quickly, rummaging around in the closet. He emerges with a black spear point combat knife that has an R for Reb scratched into the handle. He holds it up, and Dylan isn’t sure what’s happening. He sits up with interest, unsure if he he should back away.

Then Eric kneels in front of Dylan. He holds his left hand out, and presses the blade to it. He hesitates, but only briefly, and anybody but Dylan would have missed it. He drags the knife through the flesh of his palm, a scarlet line of blood emerging.

Dylan gasps.

“I’d do anything for you,” Eric repeats. 

Dylan holds out his hand and Eric lifts up the knife again. “Here,” Dylan says, quietly, taking the knife from Eric, trying to save him from carrying out this particular action. He cuts into his hand just as Eric had, minus Eric's hesitation, seeming all too familiar with taking a blade to his skin. When he finishes, he holds his hand out for Eric, and they press their hands together, palm to palm, a holy palmers’ kiss. 

Eric drops the knife to the floor and takes Dylan’s jaw in his hand, kissing him. He leaves a bloody handprint on Dylan’s cheek. Dylan reaches up softly and pulls his hand away.

Dylan gets up and it’s Eric’s turn to wonder what’s happening, but a moment later Dylan reappears with some gauze and tape. He attends to his own wound with ease, then kneels in front of Eric, mirroring his position. Dylan slowly cleans Eric’s bloody hand, talking softly as he works. “Sometimes I have this dream. We’re on a highway in the middle of nowhere. It’s just us in the car and we’re the only ones on the road for miles and miles.”

“What does it mean?” Eric asks, staring at his bloody hand.

“I don’t know,” Dylan admits. The dream is always a lonely one, but Klebold felt comfort in having Eric at his side.

They’ve never put a name to this, but whatever “this” is feels infinitely deeper now. Dylan doesn't have the first idea in the slightest what to call this unspeakable thing between them that now seems too wild and strong to give a name. 

_"It's Reb and Vodka,"_ Dylan thinks to himself. That’s what it is.


End file.
